


Raison D'être

by BadNewsForBrainWork



Series: 365 Days of Sabriel [1]
Category: Band of Brothers, Supernatural
Genre: Bombs, Gen, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadNewsForBrainWork/pseuds/BadNewsForBrainWork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some don't make it out alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raison D'être

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to apologize in advance for this horrible thing that I've done.

“I got the letter last week,” Sam says as he takes a drag from Gabriel’s cigarette, then hands it back without another word. Sam doesn’t smoke, but he can make an exception. Just this once.

It’s a long time before Gabriel replies, gold eyes dimmed by the gray clouds overhead. “We’re all lucky to be alive, really.” Sam can’t argue with that. 

***

It started snowing sometime during the night and between Gabriel’s griping and Sam’s lack of warmer clothing, it’s been a miserable morning in general. It doesn’t help that Sam can’t get the letter off his mind.

It must be around noon when Gabriel goes to join the others by the fire for a while, but Sam stays behind. He deserves this, doesn’t he? Suffering.

When Gabriel returns, he has soup and bread and a pair of gloves that he graciously gives to Sam. He accepts them, because he knows Gabriel will fuss at him if he doesn’t. 

***

“You can’t beat yourself up about this forever,” Gabriel slurs after having one too many drinks from his flask. Sam looks at him, really takes him in, and he wonders how someone could be so positive in times like these.

“He died because I wasn’t there to protect him.” Sam pulls his scarf up over his nose and breathes into it. It reeks of sweat and smoke and gunpowder and god, does he hate it.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Gabriel snaps and closes a hand around Sam’s wrist, “He died because we went to war. He died a hero. He died fighting for his country. It’s an honor, Sam.” The warmth of Gabriel’s hands are surprising in the cold and Sam relishes the feeling before jerking away.

“I have nothing left to fight for.”

“Then you’d better find something, kid. Because if you don’t fight, you die.”

***

It’s not until two days later that Sam finally cracks, throwing his hands up in frustration. Gabriel has been trying to light a cigarette for the last half hour, but the wind keeps blowing out his match. Every single time, Gabriel grumbles something about divine punishment before lighting another. He’s almost got it when Sam slaps the cigarette out of his hand.

“What is it that you fight for? I’m at a loss here.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Gabriel with probing eyes.

The question catches Gabriel off guard. He quirks an eyebrow and digs around in the snow for his soggy cigarette without looking at Sam. “My brother died too, you know. He got a Purple Heart and everything. It was a nice little funeral. He was only 23 years old.”

Sam swallows around the knot in his throat. “Gabriel, I didn’t know. I am… so sorry.”

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. It’s not until the early dawn hours that Gabriel finally turns to Sam and mumbles something under his breath before drifting off to sleep.

***

“Bombs. They sound close,” Balthazar mutters as he crouched next to Sam and Gabriel’s foxhole. 

“Don’t go scaring the kid, Balthazar,” Gabriel mumbles, lighting a cigarette. Sam isn’t even paying attention. 

So what if the bombs come? They’ll survive, that’s what they do.

***

“What was it?” Sam asks through his chattering teeth. 

Gabriel tilts his head to the side, his goldenrod eyes bewildered. “What was what?”

“What you said before, the other day.” It’s funny, Gabriel knows exactly what he means. He pokes Sam in the chest with a gloved finger and manages a smile.

“I said ‘you’.”

“Me?”

It goes right over Sam’s head.

***

A loud crash wakes Sam from his sleep and he instinctively reaches for his gun. Gabriel is already perched at the edge of the foxhole, listening.

“Bombs?” Sam asks, but he already knows the answer. Gabriel nods and slides back down the snowy bank into the foxhole.

“Very close,” Gabriel whispers as if the enemy will hear him. 

***

Sam wishes that this is all just a nightmare. Everywhere he turns, there are dead bodies, maimed and broken or flat out obliterated, with only teeth and bits of fingers remaining. Gabriel is at his side, shifting through the trees, and every now and then, he fires his gun at an enemy that Sam’s eyes didn’t even catch.

Sam can hear a voice calling him from somewhere close by and he looks around wildly, listening for the source. It isn’t really surprising that Gabriel is already moving towards the broken screams and when he drops down to his knees, Sam knows it must be bad because Gabriel groans and shouts over the gunfire, “Sam, don’t look.”

But Sam already has despite Gabriel’s warning and his stomach squirms uncomfortably at the sight. It’s someone he knows of, but he’s not sure of his name. From what Sam can see in the darkness, the left side of his face is scorched and his arm is…

Sam retches into the grass but not because of the graphic scene before him. All he can think about is Dean lying in the exact same spot, looking up into the eyes of some man he barely knows as he slowly bleeds out.

_Hey Sammy, how are things in Bastogne?_

He would have told Dean things were terrible. That it’s cold and miserable and there’s never enough food. That Gabriel’s smoking gets on his last damn nerve because he hates waking up to the stink of tobacco. But even still, Gabriel is kind and considerate most of the time, and he makes Sam laugh and reminds him a little of Dean. 

But Dean is dead and Sam might as well be, too.

***

The body count is grim reminder of how brutal war is. 

Gabriel is lighting up his fifth cigarette in a row when Balthazar appears behind him. “I’m sorry,” he says and puts a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“It’s a fact of war. People die.” 

“He was your friend.”

“He wasn’t.” Gabriel’s voice is breaking and Balthazar squeezes his shoulder gently. They don’t talk about it again for three days.

***

“He was much more than that,” Gabriel murmurs at dinner. Balthazar raises his head and stares at Gabriel with intense, blue eyes. 

“Then what?”

“As the French, would say, my _raison d’être_.”

Balthazar contemplates this for a moment before chuckling. “We’re not in France, you twit. What does that even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel bites icily and shoves away from the table. 

“It obviously does.”

Gabriel stands up and thinks about leaving. He thinks about going into the forest, loading his handgun and blowing his brains out onto the snow. That’s the easy way out, though, and Gabriel has never been one for taking shortcuts in life.

“Sam Winchester was my reason for fighting. I’ve… he’s been my reason to keep on keepin’ on. Now he’s dead and it’s my fault—”

“It’s not your fault,” Balthazar interrupts, “You were helping a fallen comrade.”

“Who also died,” Gabriel reminds him. Balthazar snaps his mouth closed.

An awkward silence passes before Gabriel finally sits down again. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and tosses it onto the floor. Balthazar eyes him cautiously.

“That’s a waste of perfectly good cigarettes,” Balthazar teases before picking up the pack and examining it.

“Yeah, well, he always did hate it when I smoked.”


End file.
